


maybe in a year

by peachsocks



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Gen, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Irondad, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tony Stark Has A Heart, more like taking whatever I want from whatever canon I want lmao, spiderdaughter?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28575162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachsocks/pseuds/peachsocks
Summary: An alternate version of the MCU where Gwen Stacy was bitten by the spider instead of Peter Parker, a giant lizard is terrorizing Queens, and the annoying billionaire who won't shut up about superhero regulations somehow becomes family.
Relationships: Gwen Stacy & Tony Stark, Gwen Stacy/Mary Jane Watson, Peter Parker & Gwen Stacy, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This is definitely heavy on the hurt of the hurt/comfort! Imo it has a hopeful if not happy ending, but along the way there is homophobia, emotional and physical abuse, and MCD. 
> 
> I started writing this about a year ago, just for fun, never thought I'd finish it or want to post it anywhere but here we are! Hopefully at least one other person will enjoy this wildly self-indulgent story! As of now, it's at about 100k words, but that could change as I edit. Trying for at least weekly updates!

The spider cage is on the eighth floor of OsCorp. It's right outside Gwen's lab; she has to walk by it to get to the elevator. The spiders like to go still when she passes, stare at her from behind the glass. She sometimes stares back, though she tries not to—they make her skin crawl if she thinks too much about their too many, too tiny, too fast legs or the red glowing splotches on their bodies. 

Her mom doesn’t like her internship, because it pulls her focus from dance, but also because of the spiders. Well, not the spiders specifically, but Oscorp’s experiments. They’re a revolutionary company, not afraid to push the boundaries of what’s been done before. Gwen’s mom always says that they’ll kill someone eventually.

So every day, Gwen walks past the spiders and thinks about her mom’s words. And every day the spiders stay in their cage.

Until she’s there with her whole chemistry class. Then, one decides to escape and sink its little fangs into her skin. 

“Are you okay?” Peter whispers as the tour guide drones on about the spiders' properties. 

Gwen keeps her hand clasped over the bite and blinks a few times. Her vision blurs until Peter's face starts to blend in with the shelves behind him. 

“You don’t look good.” Peter touches her arm and then recoils, wrinkling his nose. “Very sweaty. No offense.”

She lets go of the bite, wipes across her forehead with the back of her hand. The throbbing in her arm spreads upward, creeping into her neck, then chest, head, everywhere, until she has two heartbeats. She clamps her hand back around the bite and tries to focus on not passing out. 

It’s only sheer will-power that gets her through the rest of the field-trip. She finally slips out of consciousness on the bus ride home, wakes up with the sharp bones of Peter’s shoulder digging into her temple and his hand pressed against her forehead.

“You may be gravely ill,” he says, with a faux-serious expression to cover up the sincere one underneath.

“Shut up,” she mumbles.

There’s a blank space between stumbling down the bus steps and collapsing onto her bed. Peter sits on the chair in the corner, starts tapping his knees. Gwen tries to smile at him to prove she's not actually dying, but she's pretty sure it comes off as a grimace. 

He stays until her parents get home. 

The next morning, when she tries to open her bedroom door, the knob comes off right in her hand as if the nails holding it in place were play-dough rather than metal. She stares down at it and her upside down reflection in its surface for so long that she’s almost late to school.

A week later marks the first time she saves someone. It’s by accident, more on reflex than anything else. Then she’s kneeling with a toddler cradled in her arms a few feet from the scaffolding that had nearly taken his life.

Everyone around is staring in awe. The boy’s mom cries and thanks her. Someone pats her on the back and it feels _good_.

But she moved really fast to grab him. Way too fast. After the applause dies down, they start asking questions. Gwen goes home and makes a mask.

Three weeks later she gets a text from a blocked number, claiming to be the Tony Stark—Avenger, billionaire, nuisance. She ignores it, but they keep coming, one after another, about regulations and the government and new rules.

She reads a copy of the Sokovia Accords from start to finish. It seems like the opposite of her problem. She’s not interfering with international relations. She’s not looking to join the Avengers any time soon. She wouldn’t even call herself a hero.

But if other people want to, she won’t stop them.


	2. Chapter 2

Gwen recognizes the song before the first note. 

It doesn’t take Peter much longer. They’ve listened to it enough times that every beat is probably etched into their brains. There’s a little groove somewhere in the memory section that has all the lyrics and every time that they’ve danced to it. 

“Okay,” Peter yells. “Game face!”

Gwen nods her head to the beat a few times, uses her pencil and freehand like drumsticks on the desk. Peter’s bed creaks as it shifts behind her. She spins around in the desk-chair, watches Peter bounce up and down a few times. He’s holding his calculator like a microphone up to his lips as he sings. He raises his eyebrows and holds it out to her. Gwen smirks and leaps to her feet, taking Peter’s offered hand to step up onto the bed. 

_I don't care if_ , the speaker blares. _The world knows what my secrets are, secrets are!_

She grabs Peter’s hand and spins him once. He grins up at her in that open, bright way that drew her attention immediately when they were little kids. 

If Gwen would let it, this would be just one more in a series of perfect moments. It’s always been the two of them. And they might keep secrets from everyone else, but never from each other. 

That’s not true anymore. Not since the spider.

When the song ends, Peter collapses back onto the bed. Gwen smiles down at him before hopping off and grabbing her backpack. 

“No.” Peter sits up, leaning his head on the wall. “Don’t leave.”

“I'm supposed to be home in—oh negative five minutes.”

“You’re always so busy now,” Peter groans. “Just blow your parents off. May’s making lasagna.”

She's been distracted the last couple months and it hasn't escaped his notice. She used to spend every afternoon at his place. Now, she only manages two or three times a week.

“And why exactly would I want to stay for May’s lasagna?”

“To hang out with me?” Peter widens his eyes and clasps his hands, pleading.

“I can’t. I’m really sorry.” Gwen glances at the time on her phone again. “Negative six. It’s official. I’m dead. See you tomorrow?”

Peter flops onto his side. “You should quit dance. Or your internship. Or—”

Gwen busies herself with packing up her laptop and books so that she won’t have to look at him. She did quit her internship, though nobody knows that—not Peter, not her parents—to make time for Spider-Woman. It will probably catch up to her eventually. She takes a breath and tightens the straps of her backpack before turning to the door.

“Goodnight, Peter!” she says, cutting off his rant about her extracurriculars. 

“Night! Try not to let them skin you alive!”

“I’ll do my best.”

She waves to May and Ben as she passes the kitchen, calling goodbyes.

“Wait, Gwen.”

She pauses by the door as May makes her way over to her, a small piece of paper in her hand. She holds it up in the air, clicking her tongue and then pressing it into Gwen’s hand.

“The recipe. For the cookies,” she explains. “Peter said you loved them.”

Gwen’s caught off guard for a second. The cookies were—edible is a generous assessment. Peter starts snickering in his room, but May just keeps smiling, definitely can’t hear him.

She'll get back at Peter later. For now, she forces herself to smile at May. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course! Bring over the first batch you make. I can give you pointers,” she says with a wink.

Gwen squeezes the paper. “Will do!”

May draws her in for a hug and presses a kiss to her right temple, before pushing her towards the door. 

“Have a good night,” Ben calls.

She throws another wave over her shoulder.

Gwen wishes she could take Peter up on his offer, blow off her family dinner and maybe even spend the night. She loves spending time with the Parkers. In elementary school, she tried to pretend she was one of them, telling kids at school that Peter was her brother and changing her last name on assignments. Sometimes, she still fantasizes about it, although Peter always says that’s bullshit, because Gwen’s the one with the big apartment and nice cars, but she means it. The Parkers' place is always warm and inviting. It’s good.

Gwen sticks in her earbuds for the walk—she better make it a jog actually, she’s already late.  _ Secrets _ is stuck in her head, so she plays it again, mouthing along the lyrics as she runs. 

It’s challenging to set her pace—keep it fast enough to get home before her parents realize she’s not there, but slow enough that it's not suspicious to bystanders.

She makes it home in 3 minutes. It’s probably a little too fast. She’s working on it.

She takes the steps up to her building two at a time, pulling her hair down from a ponytail, and unbuttoning the top button of her shirt as she goes. 

_ I don’t care if,  _ Mary Lambert sings in her ears.  _ The world knows what my secrets are. I don’t care if— _

Gwen yanks the buds out of her ears, removes them from her phone, and shoves them in her backpack. She slips in the door and closes it softly behind her. 

She spares the mirror hanging on the wall a sideways glance, but that's enough to drag her in. Her hands start to fiddle with her hair, almost of their own accord, switching the part from one side to the other, then back again. They drift down, straightening the collar of her shirt and then pulling at the hemline. She tops it off by plastering a smile onto her face. It’s not perfect—never is. But, overall, it’ll be deemed on the low end of acceptable. Gwen knows how to walk the line.

She keeps the smile pinned as she makes her way further inside. There are voices coming from the living room, rather than the kitchen, or her parent’s room where she would expect them to be. 

She hesitates and closes her eyes to focus on what they’re saying. The sensory enhancements were the hardest part of her powers to get a handle on. The barrage of sounds and their sheer volume kept her up for a week before she finally started to gain some control of them.

The male voice isn’t her father’s. The back of Gwen’s neck tingles, sending waves of nervous energy through her.

She turns the corner into the room with some degree of hesitation, wishing that she’d strapped her web-shooters on, or at least stuck them in her pocket where she could reach them if needed. Instead, they’re under a pile of books in her backpack. She’ll have to rely on strength alone if anything goes wrong.

“Hey, Mom,” she calls as she enters the room.

Two heads turn to face her. Gwen feels her mom’s eyes sweep over her, appraising her outfit and stance. She tries to focus on the man next to her, but she gets trapped in the way her mom’s lips thin into a straight line of mild disapproval. 

When she does turn to the man, it doesn’t take her long to place him.

“Seriously?” The word escapes before she has a chance to stop it.

The disappointed line on her mom’s face expands into a scandalized circle. “Gwendolyn!”

Gwen purses her lips, tries to glare at him with just her eyes. 

“Mr. Stark took time out of his busy schedule to come here,” her mom says. Her eyes are angry too, but focused on Gwen. “He wants to speak to you about a scholar _—_ ”

“I know.” It still comes out far too sharp. Her mom’s giving her a smile that says she’s going to murder her once Tony leaves. Gwen switches to a posher tone. “Shall we speak on the balcony, Mr. Stark?”

Her mom outright glares. Too posh, then.

“That sounds great, Gwen,” Tony says, standing and offering her a too-symmetrical grin. He’s the picture of charm, giving off the perfect cross between benevolent eccentric billionaire and humble veteran superhero that’s going to leave her mom talking about him for months. Gwen’s not fooled. She has a whole block of texted threats that she could scroll through on her phone to prove his true intentions.

“Thank you so much for the coffee, Mrs. Stacy,” he adds.

Gwen rolls her eyes as her mom practically swoons. She stalks toward the balcony door, knowing that Tony is following her from his footsteps. He slides the door shut behind him, which is good, because Gwen would have slammed it and probably broken the whole thing.

“How are you doing?” he asks, leaning back against the railing.

“Oh, cut it out,” Gwen says. “This is your move? Ambushing me at my house?”

Tony lets his glasses fall down his nose to look at her over the rims. “Well, you weren’t exactly receptive to my messages.”

“Yeah, so then your next step should have been to leave me alone.” Gwen paces the length of the balcony. “I’m not hurting anyone, and I don’t want to be part of your team. No one is supposed to know who I am! It’s bad enough that you do, but to come and talk to my  _ mom _ .”

If her parents found out that she wasn’t at her Oscorp Internship when she said she was _—_ if they found out what she was actually doing _—_ they would put a stop to it immediately. Spider-Woman isn’t something that she wants to lose. She’s just starting to gain momentum. Her pictures appeared in one of the local papers last week. Children cheer and point when they see her. She even signed a guy’s forehead once. And she’s helping people for god’s sake. That’s got to count for something.

“Unfortunately, I had to cut a few deals to get the Accords up and running. Which means I have some new responsibilities, and one of them is you.”

Gwen rolls her eyes. She’s read the section about vigilantes a couple of times over. Tony’s supposed to be their point of contact, make sure they follow the rules, keep them within the bounds of the legislation.

“Fine, consider me regulated.” Gwen makes like she’s going back inside, but Tony slides forward to cut her off.

“It’s not that easy. You need to sign some things. Not with your real name, of course,” he adds when he sees the expression on Gwen’s face. “But, you’re a minor, so this isn’t even legal. Thanks for making my job more of a nightmare than it already was.”

“Just don’t tell anyone I’m a minor.” It’s really an obvious solution. Tony’s supposed to be a genius. “And then never contact me again. Cool?”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose, mumbling something about teenagers under his breath that Gwen chooses to ignore. “What happens when you get severely injured, or die? When I have the secretary on my back wondering why I let a sixteen-year-old traipse around the city, performing acrobatics for dangerous criminals?”

“I guess that’s for you to figure out.” 

Tony gives her a look and Gwen throws up her hands. “What do you want me to do? Promise not to die? Believe me, that’s the goal.”

He studies her for a moment. “If you start ignoring my texts again, I’ll be making more visits.”

Gwen glares at him. He meets it with a steady look, one eyebrow quirked. 

“Fine. One text a week.”

“Every other day. And if I ask you a question, you answer it.”

“Only if it’s not a stupid question,” Gwen mutters, but she holds out her hands for the tablet and stylus anyway. “This thing isn’t, like, scanning my retina for a government database, right?”

“Nope,” Tony says, placing the tablet in her hands. Gwen accepts it and scribbles ‘Spider-Woman’ on the line, trying to make her handwriting look as different as possible from her own. “Only takes some info for my personal servers. That way if you do meet an—untimely demise, I can just whip up a new you in my lab. No fuss, no words from the secretary, problem solved.”

Gwen twists her face up in disgust, shoving the tablet back to Tony. “I was hoping you were just like this over text. But you’re actually the worst.”

“It was nice to meet you too, Ms. Stacy.”

A suit lands behind him and opens up. He takes a step backwards and it closes around him. 

“There’s a little present in your room.” His voice has a mechanical tinge to it now. “Don’t take it personally. I‘d rather avoid the cloning route if I can.”

Gwen considers flashing him the finger as he takes off, but she knows her mom is probably watching from the kitchen. She settles for what she hopes he’ll understand is a sarcastic thumbs up.

* * *

The new suit is incredible. Not that Gwen would ever tell Tony that.

Her phone buzzes with a text.

_ I’m guessing you like it then. _

Under the words there’s a video, footage of her walking home the kid she found crying last night. Of course there couldn’t have been a cool robbery happening instead.

Gwen locks her phone and slides it in her pocket. Peter’s staring at her across the lunch table, lips slightly upturned.

“Seriously, Gwen, who’s been texting you non-stop?”

“No one,” she says quickly.

This is exactly why Tony needs to quit with the check-ins. She doesn’t have anyone to pin the constant notifications on. There’s no reason he needs to text this much. The guy is supposed to have a busy schedule. And yet he’s somehow managed to set aside time just to annoy her.

“Oh my god, wait.” Peter leans forward. “It’s a girl isn’t it! Like a girlfriend-type-girl?”

Gwen runs her hands through her hair. She’s close to ripping it out. “No, Peter. I’d tell you if _—_ ”

Movement out of the corner of her eye draws her attention away from him. She turns to the side just as a lunch tray settles on the edge of their table. Gwen follows the arms on either side of the tray upward, butterflies taking up residence in her stomach.

MJ’s staring down at her with an uncertain half-smile. She turns it to Peter, then looks back at Gwen once again. “Hey, losers.”

“Hi,” Gwen says, drawing out the word.

“Here.” MJ reaches for the cookie on her tray and holds it out to Gwen. “I asked for oatmeal raisin and they gave me chocolate-chip.”

She stares down at it, dumbfounded, trying to work out if it's some kind of joke. 

“Wow, Gwen! Look at that,” Peter says with a shit-eating grin. “It’s your favorite kind of cookie.”

Gwen glares at him, then reaches for it, turning it up and down in her hand a few times. “Do you _—_ you don’t like chocolate-chip?”

MJ shrugs. “Not as much as oatmeal raisin.”

“Oh, well, thank you.” Gwen sets it down next to her lunch, and then irrationally thinks that might make it look like she’s rejecting it, and picks it up again, tearing off a bite.

MJ smiles and picks up her tray again. “Bye, Gwen. Peter.”

“Bye,” she says, garbled around the mouthful of cookie. “Thank you!”

MJ takes a single half-step away and then comes to an abrupt stop, rocking back onto her heels and spinning to face them again. She reaches inside her backpack, then her eyes dart upward once, before she pulls a piece of paper out.

“Uh. Here.” She hands it to Gwen and then quickly re-zips her bag, swinging it onto her back. “I wanted to do something digital, better for the environment, but Betty wanted it to look retro, so _—_ ”

Gwen scans the paper _—_ flyer, more like. There’s a silhouette of a couple of girls and some instruments, with a pink background behind them. MJ’s name, along with a few other girls in their grade, line the bottom of the page.

“You’re in a band?” she asks, squinting at it.

“Yeah. It’s new. New-ish. This is our first gig, so we’re trying to spread the word. If you _—_ you guys want to come, all the information’s there.” 

“Awesome,” Gwen whispers, looking over the art again.

MJ’s face lights up, then quickly falls into something more neutral. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Great, well, see you around.”

Gwen watches her cross the cafeteria. Her curls are tucked into a messy bun, a few pieces sticking out to frame her face. She tucks them behind her ears as she takes a seat with a group of girls in their grade. It’s the same routine everyday—she doesn’t seem to actually talk to them much, usually pulling out a book and reading it.

“Well,” Peter says. “That was somehow more strange than usual.”

Gwen leans her head onto her hand. MJ looks up from her book, laughing at something that the girl next to her said. 

“Why do you think she sits with them?” she asks.

“Maybe because they’re friends? In a band together?”

MJ meets her eyes for a moment across the cafeteria. She cocks her head to the side and squints. Gwen quickly dips her head.

“It’s her, isn’t it? The one who is texting you?” Peter’s eyes are bugging out, his thick glasses only accentuating the affect. “Please tell me you got Michelle Jones’ number.”

“Shut up. People are going to hear you,” Gwen hisses. “And no! In what world would I be texting MJ?”

“You call her MJ,” Peter points out with a grin.

“Yeah, we’re _ friends _ . She told me to call her that!”

“Because she likes you,” Peter sing-songs. “And you looove her.”

Gwen feels her cheeks grow warm, knows they’re probably bright red, and the color is only going to egg Peter on. It’s not worth it for her to get this worked up. There’s nothing there with MJ. She's just nice. They're friends. It's not worth it to read any more into it. Especially now, when she has bigger things to worry about _—_ namely the billionaire breathing down her neck. 

“Why else would she walk by our table everyday? She doesn’t have to do that.”

“Maybe she likes you,” Gwen points out.

“I’m not the one holding a flyer. Or a cookie.” Peter reaches over and makes a ‘gimme’ motion until Gwen holds it out. He snaps a piece off and chews on it thoughtfully. “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but nobody likes me.”

Gwen frowns. His tone is light, but he’s been saying things like that more and more since they started high school. She’s afraid that he actually believes it. 

“ _ I _ like you,” she says. 

The tension in his face softens a little and he rolls his eyes. “I know. What would I do without you?”

The back of Gwen’s neck starts to itch. She curls a hand over it and looks over her shoulder. Nothing seems to be amiss. When she turns back around, Flash is behind Peter. Gwen starts to call a warning, but he promptly pours out the remaining contents of a carton of milk onto Peter’s head before she can form the words completely.

Peter’s face becomes hard again, resolved, as the white liquid drips from his hair down his face. It’s better than the pure defeat that sometimes emanates from him after Flash’s antics, but not by much. 

“‘Sup dickwad?” Flash smirks over Peter’s head and nods at Gwen. “Dickwad-ess.”

Gwen weighs the odds of decking him in the cafeteria and getting away with it. It doesn’t seem likely, but seeing Flash drop might be worth it.

Instead, she just steels her face into something blank, shooting for unimpressed. “The milk was a nice touch. You’ve never done that before.”

“Yeah, thanks buddy. It was getting hot in here. That cooled me down a bit,” Peter says.

“You could probably use it to slick your hair back,” Gwen adds. “Could make it a thing. Very trendy.”

“You’re so right!”

Flash drops the empty carton on Peter’s head as he walks away. It bounces on the table once before landing on the floor. “You guys are so fucking weird.”

Gwen balls her hands into fists and releases them a few times. She could stop him. She has the power to. It wouldn’t be for her sake, but Peter’s. He’s practically simmering with anger across from her, hands shaking and eyes filled with fire that has no right distorting his usually kind features.

But if she hit Flash he’d go down hard. It’s not something that Gwen Stacy would do—that anyone would believe she had the capability to do. It would put eyes on her _—_ and not the good kind that are followed by cheers and clapping. The kind that would bring hard questions. Also, it’s sort of against the contract she signed for Tony. She doesn’t want him to have any reason to pay another visit.

“I’m going to _—_ ” Peter trails off and looks at Gwen for a moment. “God, I’d love to punch him. Really mess up his face, you know? I’m going to do it. One of these days.”

Gwen smiles, but she feels sick to her stomach. Peter’s 5’7 and a little over 100 pounds. He’s lanky, scrawny, not the kind of person who could punch anyone, least of all Flash, and live to tell the tale. 

“Okay, tough guy. Only if you beat me to it.”

She wishes she actually could.

* * *

It almost scares Gwen how quickly swinging became like breathing. It’s the most natural thing in the world, now. She doesn’t have to focus on aiming the webs or holding on to them. She just lets go, all thoughts drifting away until she hears trouble. It’s like dancing, without the pressure and expectations. Sometimes, she thinks that the only time she gets full breaths of air is when it’s surging around her as she arcs across the city skyline.

A deafening roar punctures the ambient car horns and occasional shouts. Gwen lands on the nearest rooftop and closes her eyes. It only takes her a few seconds to figure out which way to go.

Four blocks later and she’s dropping down to the street.

“Long time, no see,” she says. “Ready for round two?”

She’s fought this guy before. It was about two weeks ago. The scaly, green thing erupted from a manhole in broad daylight. She ducked into an alley and changed. It was a tough fight. She’d never crossed anything superhuman before. She wouldn’t consider that fight a win, exactly, but no civilians were severely injured. 

This time she has two more weeks of experience under her belt and a new suit courtesy of Tony Stark.

The Lizard seems to be on a mission. He doesn’t so much as look at her, just keeps moving forward, tail swinging and smashing into countless cars, setting off multiple alarms. A few people flee down the street, screaming.

Objectively, she’s not off to a great start.

“Hey, Liz,” Gwen yells. “Can I call you Liz?”

She swings in front of him, zigzagging a few lines across the street to create a web. She doesn’t expect it to stop him, but it’ll buy her some time to think.

The Lizard’s legs hit the first web and he stumbles. He sighs, more exasperated than genuinely angry and nods once at her in acknowledgement before lancing the rest of the webs out of the way with a few swipes of his claws.

“Spider-Woman,” he says by way of greeting. “Are you going to stay out of my way this time?”

“I can’t do that unless you stay out of mine. And that can’t happen while you’re _—_ ” She’s not sure what he’s doing exactly. At the moment he’s just walking, but she doubts it’ll stay that way for long. “Whatever you’re doing.”

The Lizard swipes a hand towards Gwen. There’s not much heart in it, like he doesn’t intend to hurt her. She deftly spins away and attaches herself to the side of a building.

After a few deep breaths, she narrows her eyes, analyzing the street. She leaps back to ground and sprints in a circle around the creature, arms outstretched. One web soars high, hitting the roof of a nearby high-rise, the other goes low, directly toward the Lizard. She uses the high line to swing in a circle, with the Lizard as the center point, as she wraps the other around him.

He struggles against the strands, muscles straining. She gets a little closer, shooting web after web, aiming at his eyes, his mouth. After a few minutes of the assault, he goes still, completely entrenched in thin white lines.

Gwen lets her arms drop to her side, exhausted giddiness taking over. She did it—captured her first enhanced bad guy. If that doesn’t get her on the front page, nothing will. It might even make national news.

“Told ya, Liz.” She folds her arms over her chest. “I wasn’t the one who needed to be worried.”

All in one motion, the Lizard’s body seizes, the webs holding him snap and he lunges forward. Gwen throws her hands up, fingers finding the buttons of her web-shooters too late. The Lizard slams into her, front claws striking across her stomach. She flies through the air, landing hard on the top of a car. The driver swerves to the right and Gwen topples off to the left with a groan.

She lays still for a moment, assessing the damage. Her abdomen aches. When she tries to sit up to check it out, the pain ramps up to a sharp, stabbing sensation. She rolls to the side, instead. 

The claws didn’t pierce the suit. Gwen sends a silent  _ thank you _ to Tony for that _—_ maybe the support of a billionaire is useful for some things. If this was two days ago, she’d be bleeding out on the sidewalk. There’ll still be a hell of a bruise though.

“‘In Over Her Head (Surprise, Surprise)’ Protocol activated.” 

Gwen flinches at the mechanized female voice. “What?”

“Hello, Gwen. I have detected that you are in need of some assistance. Should I alert Mr. Stark?”

Gwen has to stop herself from collapsing fully back onto the ground in annoyance. The guy made an AI to spy on her. She’s going to kill him, regardless of his usefulness.

“No, I’m just fine, thanks,” she says through gritted teeth.

She struggles to her feet, only wobbling a little bit as she reacquaints herself with her surroundings.

The Lizard is still making his way down the street. He’s still walking, lumbering even, like he thinks Gwen’s already out of the game. The nonchalance pisses her off. She needs to stop him.

“My scans show a severe contusion in your upper abdomen, broken ribs, and a possible concussion.”

“Is there a way to shut you off?”

“You could call Mr. Stark.”

That’s not an option that Gwen’s going to take. “I guess we’ll be spending some time together, then.”

She dashes in front of the Lizard.

“Enough with the webs,” he growls.

She shoots another.

This time he kicks out with his foot and she goes tumbling through the air. Karen starts  spouting off a list of new injuries as she lands in a heap. She starts to question whether the front page is worth this kind of trouble. 

But then she scans the street, finding a big tank truck parked on one of the side roads. She spares the Lizard one more glance before running over to it, one hand curled around her stomach.

“May I interest you in taser webs?” Karen asks. “Rebound webs? Web grenade?”

Gwen doesn’t need more Stark tech to win a fight. Wearing his suit is bad enough. Part of her wants to never wear it again after this AI debacle. “Nope.”

Gwen shoots with both hands at the tank.

“Deploying extra-strength webs,” the AI intones.

“Extra-strength? My webs don’t need extra-strength!”

They spring out of her shooters, thicker than normal. When she looks closely, she can tell that it’s three of her normal lines wound together. At least Tony hadn’t altered her formula. 

They hit the side of the tank and Gwen pulls, grunting with the effort. 

“The block is clear of civilians.”

“Oh.” Gwen hadn’t thought about that. Apparently, the AI can come in handy, just like its creator. “Uh, thanks.”

She swings the tank around, only scraping the sides of one building with it, before slamming it into the Lizard. It pins him to the ground. Gwen pumps a fist, then brings it back down, wincing at the painful tug. She gives a triumphant whoop instead.

The relief isn’t long-lived. The Lizard lets out an agonized scream and starts wiggling his way out from under the tank. He seems to be shrinking as he does it. Before Gwen can get to him, he’s gone, having crawled down a storm drain.

“Ugh,” she mumbles, crouching to peer into the hole and weighing her options. 

And then she realizes the tank is leaking.

“Oh, shit. What is that?” 

“I believe it’s gasoline.”

“Oh,  _ shit.” _

* * *

Nothing blows up. That’s the important thing. The city’s not really happy about Spider-Woman causing a gas leak in the middle of Queens, but she did read a few tweets that thanked her for her efforts, so the night wasn’t a complete failure.

_ Let me know when you want the big times to take on Queens’ little reptile problem. _

It would be so easy to block his number. Sure, he’d find his way around that eventually, but it would stave him off for a few hours at least.

_ I’ve got it handled,  _ Gwen types back instead.

_ Oh, is that what you think upturning a gas tank on 71st Ave was? _

Gwen jabs at the screen of her phone to delete the messages. Tony Stark is an asshole.

She leans forward to grab her Calc notebook out of her backpack. Her bruised ribs protest the motion and she winces a little, glancing at the desk beside her to make sure Peter hadn’t noticed. He's staring off into space, not paying any attention.

“It was, like, right in front of one of my apartments,” Flash boasts from a few rows in front of them. A couple of his cronies are gathered around him, hanging on to each word. “I ran outside and pointed out the gas truck to Spider-Woman, so she could take the scaly guy out. She definitely winked at me.”

He’s so full of himself. Gwen rolls her eyes and nudges Peter’s shoulder, rousing him from his stupor.

“No way that happened, I can guarantee it.”

Peter squints at her, like he’s seeing her for the first time today. “Guarantee what?”

“Flash is saying Spider-Woman winked at him. No way. I don’t buy it.”

Some of the fog in front of Peter’s eyes fades away, replaced by something playful. “Oh yeah, why’s that? You know Spider-Woman?”

Gwen’s heart does a little stutter-dance. She probably shouldn’t be talking about her superhero alter ego like this. But, she already started it, so she plows forward.

“First of all, Flash wouldn’t leave his house if he saw a giant lizard roaming the streets. He talks big game, but he’d cower in his room just like everyone else,” Gwen says. “Second, Spider-Woman is definitely a lesbian.”

Peter laughs, holding a hand out as if giving Gwen the floor to speak. “Make your case.”

“Um, okay let’s review.” Gwen holds up her fingers to count off. “The pink part of her suit is like, lesbian pride flag pink.”

“Or, just pink-pink,” Peter points out. “Lots of straight girls like the color pink.”

“ _ But, _ you’ve seen some of the videos, right? She’s funny.”

“That’s true. Most straight people are notoriously not funny.”

Gwen nods sagely. “Exactly. Also _—_ secret identity? Hello! That’s super gay.”

Someone behind Gwen snorts. She turns to see MJ smiling in her direction. Gwen’s eyes bulge out as she whips her head back forward.

_ Told you so,  _ Peter mouths, nodding towards MJ.

Gwen turns around one more time. There’s still a slight smile on MJ’s face. 

She shrugs. “That was kinda funny. And you’re right, Flash is full of shit.”

“Yeah, uh, yeah definitely. Thanks _—_ er, for saying I was funny. I try.”

MJ laughs again, this time it’s definitely not because Gwen’s funny. It’s because she’s the most awkward human being on the planet. 

“Oh god,” she mumbles to Peter.   


He just shakes his head, not really containing his grin. “Absolutely pathetic, Stacy.”

* * *

Gwen’s mom is watching practice. As soon as her face appears behind the glass that separates the studio from the waiting area, dread settles in Gwen’s stomach. It’s acidic, eating at everything else until it’s the only thing left. Her neck itches and tingles simultaneously _—_ a frustrating and anxiety-inducing combination. She tries to convince herself that she’s imagining that part. It usually happens when there’s danger. Her mom is not a threat. 

She downed a handful of Advil before changing into her leotard, but it didn't help. Drugs don’t work on her anymore. She assumes that her body is metabolizing them too fast. 

The pain cuts off her range of motion. She’s just gritting her way through a subpar version of the choreography. Every movement is choppier than it should be. She avoids looking through the glass at all costs—afraid of what she’ll be able to read from her mom’s face.

Her instructor pulls her aside a few times to ask her if she’s okay. Gwen just avoids her eyes and nods.

When the torture is finally over, Gwen takes her time, waiting until all of the other girls are gone before stripping and heading to the showers. She pokes at the bruises as the hot water runs over her back. They’d done a good amount of healing overnight, but now they’re dark and angry again. She sighs and grabs her towel.

Gwen packs up her bag, one item at a time. She prays, not to anyone in particular, just a wish to the universe, that her mom has grown tired of waiting for her and left the studio. Another part of her hopes she’s there, because it would hurt for her to leave without saying a word, too. 

It’s a catch-22 that her mom can never win. If she’s too distant, she doesn’t care, if she’s too involved, she’s suffocating. Gwen recognizes that it’s not a fair assessment, but it's not like she’s the only one whose standards are impossible. She can never win in her mom’s eyes either.

Their relationship is speckled with that kind of contradiction. Sometimes, Gwen thinks that both of them only know extremes. And they’re never on the same end of the spectrum—when Gwen goes low, her mom goes high. They don’t know how to meet in the middle.

The waiting room is almost empty, but not quite. 

“There you are,” her mom says. “Come on, I still have to make dinner.”

Gwen nods and quickens her strides.

“Have a good night, Ms. Cristi,” her mom calls as she pushes through the door of the studio.

“You too, Mrs. Stacy. Goodnight, Gwen.”

Gwen offers her instructor a little wave as they exit. 

Her mom walks toward the street instead of turning towards the station. Which means she brought the car, probably came to the studio on her way home from somewhere outside the city. The walk to it is silent. Gwen chews on the inside of her cheek.

She slides into the passenger seat and closes the door as softly as possible. It’s too soft, doesn’t close all the way. She opens it again and pulls it back a little harder, cringing at the way it slams, echoing throughout the interior of the car.

“What happened?”

Gwen sets her jaw and keeps her eyes fixed on a point somewhere in the distance, out the windshield. “What do you mean?”

“Come on,” her mom replies, tone sharp. “Don’t play dumb.”

Gwen sighs. “It was just an off day.”

“You can’t have off days if you want to solo in the recital.”

Once her mom starts the car, it should only take them 15 minutes to get home. That’s manageable. If she would just pick up the keys instead of boring holes into the side of Gwen’s head. She counts the cars driving past while she waits, getting to ten before deciding that it will be over faster if she plays along.

“I know, mom.”

“Abby’s been practicing a lot. Her form was better than yours today. You were sloppy. How many times did Ms. Cristi have to correct you?”

“I don’t know,” Gwen mumbles. “A few?”

“More than a few! You always get such an attitude. I’m trying to help you.”

Three more cars. “I know. Sorry.”

She hears her mom fiddling with the keys, and finally the car shudders to life. Gwen starts counting out the fifteen minutes.

* * *

“How was your day, Gwenny?” Her dad’s words are a knife, slicing through the tension in the room.

“Alright,” she says. “How was yours?”

He launches into what are surely exaggerated tales of his day on the force. There’s no way that there were two car-jackings in broad daylight with a child mastermind behind their orchestration. That’s just not the style of day to day crime in the city. Gwen would know. There’s hardly ever anything that interesting. Except the Lizard.

“Have you guys found anything on the reptile guy,” she prompts. “Everyone was talking about it at school today.”

He opens his mouth, and Gwen’s mom shoots him a look that makes him close it and reevaluate whatever he was going to say. Gwen huffs out a long breath of exasperation.

“Don’t worry about him,” he says. “We’ll catch the guy soon enough.”

They won’t. But, Gwen will.

She places her plate in the dishwasher and heads to her room, locking the door behind her. She lowers herself gingerly onto her bed and pulls her math textbook and some paper out of her backpack. It should be easy work, but her brain isn’t comprehending the problems, refusing to read the words.

She chucks the book off the side of her bed and rolls over, reaching between the mattress and the frame to pull out her diary. 

She writes a few angry lines about hating dance. It doesn’t feel exactly true _—_ she doesn’t hate dancing, just the need to be perfect. She doesn’t mention the bruises, the root of why it particularly sucked today. She has a rule against writing down anything related to Spider-Woman. Her life’s come to censoring even her hidden journal. 

She flips back a few pages. Adds a line to the poem she’s been writing. The line is about laughter. The poem definitely isn’t about MJ.

The writing isn’t cutting it. She still feels restless, caged, like her own house is a trap. She looks longingly out the window.

It’s not one of the usual nights that she patrols, she stays in when she has ballet late, but the open air is calling her. She dons the suit and mask, pulls the hood up over her head, and slides her window open.

“Good evening, Gwen.”

The disembodied voice startles her; she loses the rhythm of her swinging momentarily. 

“Are you going to be here all the time, now?”

“I believe so. Should I ask Mr. Stark?”

Gwen flips (a mistake, ouch) into a landing and crouches on the edge of a building. “Enough about Mr. Stark. Unless I explicitly tell you to contact him, don’t, okay?”

“That’s against my protocol.”

Gwen hangs her head. “Of course it is.”

“The bruises to your ribs and abdomen do not appear to have healed much from last night. Mr. Stark theorized that you would have some sort of healing factor. Is this information incorrect?”

Gwen’s nose wrinkles at the word ‘theorized’. She doesn’t want Tony trying to figure out anything more about her or her powers than he already knows. 

But she also has no one else to talk to, even if the AI isn’t a real person. 

“I heal pretty fast,” Gwen answers. “But I had ballet today, so I had to move around a lot. I think I re-injured it.”

The AI doesn’t answer right away. Gwen envisions the code running, cycling through 1’s and 0’s, sorting through if-then statements to find the exact words to say.

“That sounds painful.”

It’s not what Gwen expected her to come up with.

“Yeah,” she says. “A little. But it’s fine.”

“One solution would be to take a day off from ballet and patrolling.”

Gwen shifts until she’s laying flat on the roof in a semi-comfortable position, curled around her stomach just enough to alleviate the pain, but not too much. If she bends too far, it becomes more painful than just straightening out. Like so many other things lately, it’s a balancing act.

“I can’t stop dancing, because I’d have to give a reason. And I can’t tell anyone why.” Suddenly, Gwen’s blinking rapidly to stop herself from crying. “And I don’t want to stop patrolling. Swinging is the only thing I like.”

The AI is silent again, then, “I’m sorry, Gwen. It must be difficult.”

It's another strange statement to hear from a program. “You’re weirdly human for a computer.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you have a name? What should I call you?”

“Whatever you would like to call me.”

Gwen thinks, sifting through names in her mind. The AI needs a middle-aged lady’s name. That would fit her better than something contemporary. Her mind drifts to a couple of months ago, when her and Peter had helped a woman pick up her groceries after the bag had split and they’d started rolling all over the sidewalk. After thanking them, she’d introduced herself as Karen. 

“That’s, like, the perfect middle-aged lady name,” Peter said afterward.

Gwen mulls it over a few times, testing it in her head. “Karen? Can I call you Karen?”

“It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Great, Karen it is.”

Gwen watches the sky. It’s almost endless black, only a few visible stars and the occasional plane dotting it every once in a while. For what feels like the millionth time in her life, she wishes the pollution and lights would fade away so she could really see them. 

“I have updated your medical profile. Mr. Stark will be sending you enhanced pain medication soon.”

Gwen slaps a hand over her eyes and groans. “Karen! Why? I was just starting to like you.”


End file.
